Black Coffee
by carrotface
Summary: Coffeeshop AU. Orihime was a waitress at the tiny cafe near her university. Ulquiorra was a brilliant but socially awkward mathematician. Maybe, just maybe, she could learn to love him despite all that. Or, perhaps, because of it. Ch 3 up! R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Orihime worked at a coffee shop near her university. It was a short walk to her classes, she could take home the leftovers and her co-workers were friendly. It was convenient in every way, and she needed the money. She didn't mind that she was poor even a little. She was an industrious worker, cheerfully doing the dishes, taking orders and chatting to the customers. It was odd how she felt as though she belonged there, even with her strange hair, behavior and the fact that she was from out of town.

She loved drawing intricate little designs made out of white foam on coffee, and while working she got to know many of the people who came to the little café. She met interesting people there every day, people she was proud and grateful to call her friends. Like the tall man with sad eyes and white hair who knew more about the Heian era in Japan than anyone else she had ever met, including her Japanese history professor. And his white-haired son, who was some kind of genius and who would always pretend to drink coffee when he was really watching the other waitress, Hinamori, out of the corner of his eye.

There were a lot of regulars besides those two, and they were too many to name. But Orihime always found them easy to talk to and fun to be around. The café was like a second home to her; its warmth was like a cocoon from the outside world. It was like a sanctuary to her.

Until a strange new man appeared there one day.

She saw him first when he was standing outside the little café, looking in through the window; it was only the next day that he actually came in. It was late in the morning for customers; usually they catered to the early morning bagel-and-coffee crowd and the next rush would only be in the afternoon during lunchtime, so Orihime and the rest of the serving staff would use the brief lull to finish up accounts, clean and just talk.

His strange green eyes were the first things she really noticed about him when she absently looked out at the road while wiping the tables. He was standing on the pavement, in a white coat and green scarf, briefcase in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. His eyes seemed to be fixed on her, but she wasn't really sure; one could never say, with the glass reflecting everything at odd angles. She paused at her third table and looked up; yes, he was still there, still looking at her—no, surely she was wrong?

Confused, but still flattered, she straightened up and smiled at him a little tentatively. He didn't reciprocate. She could see now that his gaze had no warmth or friendliness in it; it was clinical and oddly blank. She suddenly felt like a specimen under a microscope, pinned on a glass slide; irrationally she felt as though her insides were being analysed and recorded in neat columns in the man's mind, and they would be tucked away somewhere in case the information was valuable.

Her smile dipped and she looked away. She was unfamiliar with facing such a non-reaction. Uncomfortably aware that he must still be looking through the window, she began mindlessly wiping the tables again. She relied on muscle memory alone, as she let her mind drift to things she needed to do: finish two papers for her art history class by Monday, count the change at the cash register, buy groceries, go shopping for a bridesmaid's dress for Rangiku's wedding, remind the landlord that three taps in the apartment were leaking...

Three minutes later, she finally snapped out of it and realised that she had wiped the same table four times already. Apprehensively, she turned to where the man was. It was a relief to scan the place where he had stood and find it empty.

"What's wrong?" Hinamori asked, emerging from the backroom and holding a clipboard.

"N-Nothing," Orihime stammered, dropping her cloth. She wasn't a very convincing liar, but fortunately Hinamori wasn't the kind of person who would press her for answers.

"I was just doing the inventory," the other girl explained kindly, overlooking Orihime's odd behaviour. She tucked a pen behind her ear as she spoke.

"That suits you," Orihime said blurted, "The bun, I mean…you never wore your hair like that before…" her words faded into an embarrassed silence. But Hinamori just smiled, looking pleased.

"Really?" She asked, self-consciously patting her bun into place.

"I just wanted to, you know, look a little more mature."

"Oh," Orihime said, startled, "You…?"

"Oh, yeah." Hinamori blushed, looking at her shoes, "He's kind of…older than me, I guess. And I don't really have a chance, but I just wanted to anyway."

Orihime smiled uncertainly. Hinamori wasn't the type of person who went around falling in and out of love with wild abandon. She was totally unlike some other people Orihime had met who hadn't enough sense to fill a teaspoon. She was in two of Orihime's classes; minor ones, true, but she and Orihime had already become good friends in the two months that they had known each other. Hinamori had a strong practical streak and was bolstered by her self-confidence, and if she was crushing on someone, then Orihime thought that he really must be something.

"You never know until you try," she said encouragingly, "Nobody cares about age differences anymore, if that is what's stopping you."

Hinamori looked more pained.

"The age thing—I wouldn't care about that—but there's this other…issue," she whispered, looking as though she wanted very badly to disappear.

"Orihime, he's—he's my professor."

Orihime froze. She looked incredulously at Hinamori, who hung her head and looked miserable.

"Well," Orihime said, briskly, forcing herself to recover from the shock, "it's just a crush, right? You'll get over it soon. I mean, plenty of students have crushes on teachers…it's totally normal."

But this wasn't one of those things, Orihime knew. If Hinamori was actually talking to her about this with that blind yearning in her eyes, then she must be a lot further than 'crushing'. In fact, she must be in the general vicinity of 'stupidly in love'.

Hinamori just looked at her; her eyes were blank, as though she hadn't heard a single word of what Orihime had just said.

"Right," she said listlessly, snapping the clipboard loose and handing Orihime a couple of sheets of paper.

"Thanks Orihime. We'll need an exact figure of the change in the register. Manager wants to draft a new regulation about the cash limit."

Orihime nodded obediently. It didn't escape her notice that Hinamori was still somewhat spaced-out.

"I'll get to it right away," she said, grabbing a pencil from a pocket in her apron and walking to the register.

"Thanks," she heard Hinamori calling after her in a small voice.

Orihime sighed as she bent over the wad of notes and piles of loose coins in the till. Her instincts were telling her that this wasn't going to end well for Hinamori. And, of course, there was Hitsugaya, who was on the path towards getting his heart broken over someone who didn't even see him. Life, she thought, shouldn't be so…skewed.

That evening, as she and Hinamori left Hanatarou, Ikkaku and Kira to take over the night shift, Orihime asked Hinamori about the other girl's professor.

"So," she said, keeping her tone deliberately light, "which professor is he? Not in the classes we've together, right? Since those guys have one foot in the grave and all…"

Hinamori, Orihime was relieved to see, laughed. The smile stayed on her face for some time before fading.

"You don't know him," Hinamori said in a low voice, "He's my Psych professor."

"Wait," Orihime said, confused, "Isn't your Psych professor that Shihouin Yoruichi?"

"She left during the second week of term…they just told us it was for 'personal reasons'," Hinamori explained, "So…he came as her replacement. And he's…wonderful. He's so passionate about his subject and he's so patient with everyone. He even answers all the stupid questions I have."

"I'm sure your questions aren't stupid," Orihime said defensively, "Anyway…this Adonis, does he have a name?"

"Aizen," Hinamori breathed, "Aizen Sousuke."

Orihime could see even in the dim light of the streetlamps that Hinamori was blushing. She bit her lip. This was starting to seem even worse than what she had first feared.

"I'm kinda hungry," she said, changing the subject and hefting the paper bag that she was carrying with her, "Want some carrot cake from the café when we get home?"

"Sure," Hinamori said cheerfully, "We should drop by the DVD store…we don't even have classes in the morning."

"Star Wars marathon?" Orihime suggested quickly. She was a huge fan of science fiction movies, and Star Wars was her favourite space opera ever. Hinamori rolled her eyes.

"If that's what it takes," she said in a long-suffering way.

END OF PART 1

A/N: I wanted to do a romance fic with Orihime and Ulquiorra. This is my first real longfic, so I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me what you think.

Please review!


	2. Never watch DPS the night before

"Oh God," someone was saying, "Make the light go away!"

Orihime tried to open her eyes, but they were gummed shut. She literally had to peel the sleep dust out of her eyes before they would blink open. The skin under her eyes was puffy and tender and her eyes felt raw. She winced as light entered them, feeling the same pain Hinamori was going through. A pillow met her face with a soft 'thump'. Groaning, she closed her eyes again. Her limbs felt as though they were made of water.

"Get up," Hinamori said, sounding bad-tempered.

"Did we drink last night?" Orihime asked, her voice muffled by the pillow. God…her bed was so soft, her comforter was so _warm. _

"Worse," Hinamori said, grimly, "We watched _Dead Poets Society."_

"Oh _no…_is that why my eyes…?"

"Yeah,"

Somehow, thinking about _Dead Poets Society _really killed her desire to continue sleeping. She stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. She could hear Hinamori making a terrific amount of noise in the kitchen. Hinamori had a special kind of draught for occasions like this; it was quite similar to a hangover cure. At the very least, Orihime wouldn't feel like dying after she drank it.

She finished showering in a hurry—Hinamori was very possessive about the hot water and they were running late anyway—and went to their tiny kitchen. Hinamori was standing next to the sink, eyes red-rimmed and swollen from the previous night. She was gulping down a glass of her energy drink, looking out of the window dreamily.

"I'm leaving in ten," Orihime warned her, filling another glass from a pitcher filled with the drink next to the blender. She pinched her nose shut with two fingers and drank, still wincing. Although her senses of smell and taste were connected, she still got the general impression that she had swallowed something vile. Hinamori went listlessly to the bathroom. A few moments later, Orihime heard the hiss of water from the shower.

She grabbed her coat from the little cupboard next to the rack of shoes and waited for the other girl, running her fingers through her hair. She ruefully imagined the kind of picture she must present with her stringy hair and puffy eyes, thinking that she probably wouldn't make much by way of tips today. It was a sad fact that pretty young girls made more money through tips than the regular way. Hinamori stumbled out of the shower after considerably more than ten minutes, damp brown hair curling over her forehead and her ears. The two of them set out for the café, neither feeling chatty. They were definitely not going to talk about Hinamori's confession of the night before. Hinamori expertly juggled her bag, coat and cellphone in one hand and pulled her hair into a bun with the other. She fastened three pins in her hair, one by one, using her mouth as a pin-holder. Orihime watched fascinated, wincing as she considered the ramifications of Hinamori accidentally swallowing one of them.

When they arrived at the café, delicious smells of baking bread and pastries were already wafting through the air and a lot of their early morning customers had already arrived. They both hurried inside, ignoring the dirty looks that they received from Yumichika who was manning the till and looking pretty harassed. They pulled on their aprons, pinned their name tags onto their shirtfronts and hurried outside to help him deal with the angry people who hadn't had their requisite caffeine-fixes yet.

Two hours later, the crowds had left in a whirl of frantic pastry-grabbing and wild-eyed inhaling of coffee.

"Looks like there was some kind of tornado in here," Orihime observed, sliding bonelessly into one of the couches.

"Always does, darling," Yumichika replied tiredly, rubbing moisturiser onto his hands.

"You have nice hands," Hinamori envied, "They're so smooth and…shiny."

She looked sadly at her own and tucked them into the pockets of her apron.

"It's all in the moisturising routine," Yumichika said wisely. Orihime giggled. The other two looked at her, nonplussed.

"We're running out of coffee filters," Hinamori sighed after a few moments of blessed relief, "I'll get 'em from the back."

Just as her figure was disappearing through the door that led to the back room, the bell above the door tinkled. Orihime's neck immediately snapped towards the door and her body automatically got up from the couch, words of greeting forming on her lips. She froze.

It was him, the man from yesterday. He made her feel as wary again as she had before. He looked the same: the same unemotional gaze, the same scarf, the same thick brown file under his arm. Only one thing was different: he'd brought a dog with him. She blinked at it, bewildered, just as he bent down and unclipped its leash in an oddly graceful movement. It wasn't any breed she had seen before; most probably, it was some kind of terrier-dachshund mix. It stopped only to give its master a slavish look and an adoring lick before it went around the café, sniffing the sofas and the dusty corner eagerly. Its tail never seemed to stop wagging.

Orihime tore her eyes away from the dog and looked at him. He was staring at her, quite expressionlessly. His unwavering gaze brought heat to her cheeks. She immediately felt furious with herself for acting so…weak. She looked at Yumichika, trying to send out an SOS to him with her eyes. He was ignoring her. Or maybe he wasn't _intentionally, _but he was rather absorbed in the task of filing his nails. Clearly, he could not be counted on for any assistance. And, anyway, she would have just sounded like an idiot if he asked about her reluctance to take the man's order. It was, after all, her job.

She squared her shoulders firmly and went over to him. Her heart was drumming inside her chest so loudly that she could barely hear her thoughts. He had that odd effect on her. It might be the crudeness of his methods: staring at a girl unblinkingly _was _rather creepy, but she had a feeling that it was something more as well. Something she couldn't quite pinpoint yet.

"Good morning," she said, in a poor imitation of her usual cheerful greeting, and led him towards one of the smaller tables next to the window. He followed her obediently, but not a single word passed his lips. She was incredibly aware of his every mechanical movement; his alien behavior made the hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end.

"What would you like to have?" She asked, mustering up a small smile. He blinked at her in a manner that almost conveyed surprise, and his eyes immediately skittered away from her face and to the menu board pasted on the wall.

"Black coffee," he said. His voice was disappointingly normal. She didn't know what she had been expecting…a low growl? An angry snarl? It was actually pleasantly deep and a little hoarse from what could be disuse. His dog sneezed enthusiastically in the background as it nosed a particularly dusty corner of the room.

"Okay," she agreed, letting her shoulders relax a little. If he'd been planning to grope her or hit on her, surely he would have done it by now? "Anything else, sir?" His eyes slowly made their way back to her face again, and she could feel her cheeks heating up. God, she didn't know which was more embarrassing: his unceasing staring or her continuous blushing.

"I'm not…familiar with the food served here," he said slowly. It was the first full sentence that she had heard from him. He had an odd way of pronouncing his words…it wasn't an accent, he just spoke differently. As though he was a little unfamiliar with the nuances of holding a conversation.

Oh. _Oh. _He was waiting for her recommendation. She tried to be brisk and business-like, but she just wasn't used to handling a customer who was so overtly…awkward.

"Um…the cinnamon rolls are good. And…er…the cream-cheese bagels are quite nice, I think."

He nodded slowly. It was a near-fascinating movement, seeing the muscles in his neck move and observing way his mind chewed through the meaning of her words. She probably should have felt like a voyeur, but she didn't. She wasn't in the least embarrassed. The rules of social interaction didn't apply when the other person didn't even know them, right? And…okay, part of her reasoning included petty revenge for his behavior as well.

"The cinnamon roll," he said, "sound nice."

"Great, I'll just be a moment."

She didn't bother smiling as she backed away from him and went behind the counter. Niceties were wasted on him, she now knew. She snuck a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He was still sitting there, hands folded together neatly on the table, unnervingly still. He was looking at the ketchup bottle shaped like a red bell pepper, but she could tell that he wasn't really _seeing _it. But when he looked at her, it felt like he was seeing her. She wondered why that was.

As she approached the table with food, she gathered enough nerve to ask, "Why did you come to this café?"

He didn't display surprise at her question. Maybe he didn't have the capacity to.

"You…allow dogs here. It…says 'Dogs Welcome' on the sign outside."

Orihime's eyes widened a little in realisation. Had she been standing behind that sign yesterday? She couldn't remember.

"Was that what you were looking at yesterday?"

Hinamori would have been horrified to hear her talking to a customer in such a brusque way. But Orihime felt confident that this man didn't care—or perhaps he didn't know—that she was being unusually direct.

"No," he said calmly, now looking at a spot near her left shoulder, "Actually, I was looking at you. The other thing was…convenient."

"Oh," she said, and, surprised at herself for not blushing, added a little reproachfully, "You could have waved when I smiled at you yesterday, you know."

He looked at her gravely and with a tiny shock she realized that he _hadn't _known. He hadn't known what to do in response. He probably hadn't even known that anything was expected from him at _all._

"Next time," he said a little tentatively, "should I do this?"

In spite of herself, she had to admit that his hesitance was a little charming. Then he smiled.

"Don't!" She said quickly, waving her hands as if to say '_Don't try that again!'_

It was refreshing to not be perfectly well-mannered and gracious, to not have to dance and simper around an interested man, to not have to do play the flirting game. Actually, she was quite sure that he wasn't even interested in her. He seemed strangely asexual. She was a little pleased. Whatever else he was, 'interesting' certainly seemed to be an applicable adjective.

His dog, meanwhile, had grown tired of exploring and now settled himself at his owner's feet with a small huff. She looked down at the dog and back at the man, meaningfully. She was almost starting to enjoy herself now.

He took a sip of his coffee and cleared his throat, a little embarrassedly, she thought.

"This is Yammy," he said, in his slow unhurried way, "He was…given to me, recently."

The dog—Yammy—thumped his small tail on the ground when he heard his name.

"Was he a gift?" Orihime asked doubtfully.

"He was…a punishment."

Sadly, that made more sense.

Just then, Hinamori came out of the back room. Her eyes widened when she saw that there was a customer at the table next to the window. Orihime backed away quickly with a muttered, "Please enjoy your meal." Hinamori was too inquisitive for her own good. If she caught Orihime holding long conversations with a strange man, she might start to get ideas.

"I'm taking a break now," she announced to Hinamori, pulling off her apron and going to the back. She could enjoy a few moments of quiet there.

As she was leaving, she heard Yammy sneezing again. It involuntarily brought a smile to her lips.

A/N: Okay…how was the interaction between them? I really need to know, because this is the first step of their relationship. If I've screwed this up then the later chapters will just be…_wrong._ So please give me feedback.

Please review!


	3. Love creeps up on you sometimes

"-Couldn't make head or tail of the assignment-"

"-I'm just hoping it doesn't count for our final grade-"

"—_So _screwed_!"_

Hitsugaya's head hit his desk with a 'thunk'. He tried to block the noise entering his ears by letting his mind wander. It was so exhausting to continually be around people. He thought of Hinamori, whose job it was to be social to complete-and very often irritable-strangers and felt abruptly indignant on her behalf. She shouldn't have to be around hoards of noisy, pushy people every day. What made it worse was that she didn't even have a choice; she and her friend had to work in the coffee shop to make rent every month. In fact, she would be there right now, wearing the brown apron that suited her so well, with her hair slyly curling over her ears as she hurriedly took down orders, her face tight with concentration…he was dragged out of his thoughts when he noticed that the girl sitting at the place in front of his was waving a sheet of paper in front of his face.

"Thanks," he said curtly, taking his paper from her. It had been graded. She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly. He usually didn't bother to learn the names of his classmates. She had closely cropped black hair and was wearing a sweater-vest-and-pant combination. The androgynous look suited her, as she didn't seem to have curves to speak of. He could barely make out the swells of her breasts under her vest.

"An A, _again_? Fuck you man, seriously. Fuck. You."

This came from Hitsugaya's right, where his excitable neighbour sat, continuing to swear colourfully. The other boy had peered over Hitsugaya's shoulder to look at his grade. Hitsugaya bit back an acid remark about people who _couldn't mind their own business, _but he caught himself. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.

"I only got a B minus," the girl in front of him said, face falling.

Shiba, his neighbour, was a large thickset boy with piercings, torn clothes and an ever-present aroma of pot. Hitsugaya could smell it even now in the thick, sweet cloying scent that filled his nostrils. He had the beginnings of a beard on his face, and it went well with his generally unkempt appearance. Appearances were often deceiving, though, and Shiba wasn't really stupid. He couldn't be, since he had made it into the hardest calculus class the university offered.

"I got a B minus too," Shiba was telling the girl, "I think Ogawa gave everybody that, 'cept super boy genius Toushiro here." The girl looked sharply at Hitsugaya.

"So you're the prodigy everyone's been talking about?" She asked keenly, looking far more interested in him than she had been moments before. Hitsugaya mumbled something vague, but his disinterest didn't seem to deter her.

"I heard you cleared three years of study because of an amazing placement test," she was saying, eyes wide and impressed. She wasn't exactly keeping her voice down, either. It was getting higher and more excited. People were starting to look in their direction. Hitsugaya knew exactly how such a scene would end: in a crowd of people around his desk, whispering and staring. He couldn't even blame them; he was, after all, their greatest competition. Several people even seemed to feel that being beaten by him in an assignment or test was shameful in some way. His classmates would all predictable begin to despise him. The collar of his shirt was brushing his neck, making it uncomfortably itchy. His clothes felt tight and the room's temperature seemed to go up by several degrees. He stood up with his bag, letting his paper flutter to the ground.

"Hey, you can't leave! Today Ogawa's doing the-" the girl was saying.

"Toushiro'll be good," Shiba interrupted. His words were starting to slur from the after effects of the pot.

"You prolly know this stuff already, doncha Shiro? Hey, where ya goin?"

Hitsugaya had walked out without a glance back at Shiba, though he heard his name being called. He snorted to himself. Would anyone in their right mind expect him to respond to a nickname like 'Shiro'? It was absurd.

It was a peaceful, seven minute walk to the café. There was a pleasantly cool breeze blowing against his face. A slightly electric undercurrent of a storm hung in the air. Storms weren't an infrequent occurrence, but they weren't usually vicious ones. In fact, the weather in general was startlingly even throughout the year in town.

He checked his watch. It had a discreet black leather strap and its face was silver. It wasn't flashy or expensive (it had been a gift from Ukitake). In fact, the only thing about his appearance that was out of the ordinary was his silver hair—and that wasn't something he felt like changing. He thought uncomfortably about Hinamori saying, laughingly—"I wouldn't even have seen you sitting there, except for your hair. It…shines, in this cool way, did you know?"

He hadn't known. And her obvious admiration made it impossible for him to dye it. He quietly cursed his sentimentality.

He pushed the café's door open and stepped in. The bell tinkled above him as he did and he met Yumichika's bored gaze steadily. Hitsugaya looked around cautiously and was relieved to see that were only six people in the café. Something tugged at the hem of his pants and sneezed. He felt something wet land on his pant leg. He looked down in disgust. There was a dog, wagging its tail hopefully at him, tongue lolling out in a friendly way. It looked completely unrepentant. As a matter of fact, it had a decided air of triumph about it.

"Well," he snapped at it, "I suppose you think you should be congratulated for getting your snot on my pants?"

It wagged its tail even harder, in a ferociously excited way. He looked pointedly at Yumichika, who had resumed flipping through the pages of a magazine.

"So sorry," Yumichika drawled, not sounding very sorry, "I can't just leave the register whenever I want. Café rule. Don't worry; I'm sure Hinamori'll be here soon. It's not like you let anybody else serve you anyway."

He was an ass, but he was also right. She arrived just a few seconds later, a large tray in her hands.

"Oh damn," Hinamori said, surveying the scene with dismay, "He must've slipped his leash again—come _on, _Yammy, good boy, come on—no, please don't drool on my feet-"

Hitsugaya looked at her. He noticed the different hair right away, obviously, but he wasn't going to say anything. It was none of his business if she had decided to abandon the short chin length bob she'd worn for the first few weeks that he'd known her. But he didn't like it. It made her face too pointed and thin. She even looked a little more tired. He uneasily noted the grey lines under her eyes and the exhaustion that punctuated her movements.

He took his usual place, at the two-seater next to the window as he waited for her to shepherd the thing out of the way. She hurried back a few moments later, a little flushed and out of breath.

"Orihime's got him. I think Ulquiorra's been looking for him anyway."

"Ulquiorra?"

"I don't know. He started coming here a few days ago. Drops by every day around this time. He's Orihime's regular."

Hitsugaya was perplexed. She noticed his expression and grinned.

"They're not going out. He just comes and talks to her. It's really sweet, actually."

She looked a little wistful. Then she snapped back to the present and her smile abruptly disappeared.

"Shouldn't you be in class now?" she asked sharply. He cringed mentally.

"Isn't interrogating customers considered bad for business?" he retorted, trying to sound coolly composed.

"I swear, Shiro, if you're skipping _again-"_

"I'm not. Ogawa's on leave. Sudden…asthma attack. He tried to take the stairs three at a time, apparently. Idiot still thinks he's in cross-country shape or something."

The words seemed to make themselves up. Then again, he'd always been a flawless liar. Hinamori's eyes flashed with suspicion but she took her little pad out anyway.

"Well, fine." She said, sounding resigned. Her face brightened.

"Actually, it's great you're here. You can help me with these stupid differential equations questions I've got to do for an assignment. They're really killing me."

"Glad to see you're making full use of me," Hitsugaya said dryly. Hinamori grinned at him again. He felt more at ease now. This was the Hinamori he'd known, bossing over him and being concerned about him and—for some reason—always trying to help.

"Hey, that reminds me. That Ulquiorra—he's some kind of math genius too."

"I keep _telling _you I'm not a genius, idiot—"

"You are, and I don't know why you're so ashamed—no, shut up, you are! So, anyway, he's worked with my Psych teacher on projects too, can you believe it?"

Her eyes were sparkling. Hitsugaya felt strange.

"Why would your Psych professor and a math genius be working together?" He heard himself say shakily.

"I don't know," Hinamori admitted, "But Aizen-sensei told me, and I didn't want to pry but he's so brilliant and I don't even think Psych is his specialty, so…hey, I haven't even brought your food yet. Poor Toushiro, I'll just be a minute. Wait for me, alright?"

"Ok," he answered automatically.

"Hinamori, you idiot, I haven't even ordered anything!"

"A quiche Lorraine with an espresso," she called over her shoulder, not pausing as she hurried away.

"It's what you always get. D'you think I wouldn't remember?" She sounded sincerely surprised. He found that he was smiling reluctantly.

"No. No, I didn't think that you'd forget."

END OF PART THREE

A/N: Strangely, I didn't feel like writing from Orihime's POV this chapter. But with Hitsugaya the words just kind of flowed. And I didn't mean to make his feelings for Hinamori so obvious, but I guess that's how they are. Poor boy. =D Okay, some answers to questions people left me in reviews:

1.) I'm really not sure at this point if Hinamori and Hitsugaya are going to end up together. I want them to, obviously, and I think they're adorable together, but it all depends on what happens with Aizen. 2.) I don't think I'll be bringing Ichigo prominently into this fic. I just want it to be about Orihime and Ulquiorra, and there's going to be plenty of conflict without some kind of love triangle as well. Just thinking about it makes my head hurt. :D 3.) Some people said they found Orihime a little OOC, which alarmed me. I'll be trying to take care of that in the next chapter.

Please tell me what you thought of the chapter. And eternal love to those who reviewed the previous chapters. 3

Read and review!


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